Friday, March 25, 2016

Here's an excerpt from 'A Symposium in Space' fanfiction/freebie story.

When I first saw her, every other ship on Gytelem’s Used Spaceship Platform disappeared. Quite a feat, considering how huge most of the other ships were.

“And here is the latest model, well below the current market’s price!” Gytelem gabbed, with unrelenting enthusiasm. She hadn’t stopped talking, since she’d first latched herself onto me. “Perfect for impressing your lover, since I doubt you’re old enough to have a beloved!” She cackled at her own joke. “It features an extensive light display, which appears on any angle of the ship you chose! The design can be altered, any way you like? You want a giant heart to appear, flashing on and off, starboard, with cupids flying out of it? This ship can make it happen! You want something a little more exotic, like yourself standing nude with a supernova? This ship can do that, too, although I wouldn’t show too much, unless you want the Interstellar League of Decency breathing down your neck…wait, where are you going?”

I wasn’t sure. My feet started moving, as if by themselves.

“Always moving on impulse, you!” Pausania used to say, too many times to count. “Don’t you ever know where you’re going? Decide on a direction and be done with it!”

“I have decided,” I thought, before I realized I was speaking out loud. I walking towards the ship, which had caught my eye. She was the only ship on this platform, which was small, sleek, and somehow hiding behind her clunky sisters.

“Ah, have you, now!” Gytelem said. She was jogging along side of me. All of her jowls, as well as her various necklaces of metallic beads bounced, as she tried to keep up. “You have something particular in mind, do you? A ship caught your eye, did she? You pilots are so romantic! Always claiming to fall in love with a particular ship at first sight, as if a hunk of metal, beams, and circuits was alive!” Her comment was followed by coarse laughter.

I flinched. I used to laugh in exactly the same way at such pilots, along with Pausania.

“Should you be poking fun of your customers’ inclinations?” I aksed. My words came out much sharper than I’d intended. “Especially if those inclinations are making you money?”

“Oh, please, Captain! I meant no offense!” Gytelem bowed, making her many rolls of fat wiggle, beneath her sequined tunic. “I didn’t mean to insult you, or any other pilot! No, not Gytelem, never!”

“I’m not a captain,” I said, feeling a little weary. It was the third time I’d denied captaincy, although I would become one, if I started piloting my own ship. In the most informal sense of the word. “I’ve only just become a pilot. This is my first ship I’m looking for.”

Hopefully, my youth, paired up the fact I was looking for my first ship would clue Gytelem into the fact that I wasn’t able to spend much money. Not that Gytelem had clued into much of anything. She didn’t seem to realize I’d just spoken. She continued on apologizing.

“On the contrary, I think it’s charming!” Gytelem said, with a vigorous nod. “Rather like how little girls fall in love with their dolls, before they’re old enough to receive a lover’s attention! I’m a business lifer, you see, Captain. I’ve very little time for romance itself, let alone romantic notions! I know the insides of these ships too well for any of that. Still, I’d never dream of insulting those, who cherish romantic fancies…what in the universe are you doing? You can’t be interested in that ship!”

‘That ship’ was only a few steps away. Her exterior was smooth, simple, lacking any adornment. No netting for extensive light displays, no buttresses, and thank you, goddesses, no carytoids. Her sides were covered with grime, but a hint of silver winked at me, from beneath the dirt.

“I mean, this thing doesn’t even have the basic panels!” Gytelem squawked. She sounded more and more panicked, as I approached the tiny vessel. “There’s barely any space inside for yourself, let alone anyone else!”

I stretched out a hand towards the ship’s side. My fingers brushed against its surface. A tingling spread up my fingers into my hand. I gasped, as I took a step back.

A panel was rising from the ship’s surface. I realized it was a door, leading into the ship’s cockpit. I could see a couple of comfortable seats, along with more space in the back than I’d anticipated. My eyes were drawn to the simple stick in front of the driver’s seat. It might have been from an antique automobile from Old Earth.

“See how primitive it is?” Gytelem asked. She shook her head in disgust. “Although I’m impressed that you succeeded in opening the hatch.” She wrinkled her nose at the word ‘hatch’. “It refuses to open for most people. Not that most people would even look at this outdated bucket.”

“May I try out the pilot’s seat?” My question came out breathy. I wasn’t sure if I was asking Gytelem, or ths ship herself.

“Well, if you really want to, I suppose there’s no harm in you sitting there,” the used spaceship dealer said. Confusion dulled her tiny, black eyes, as she blinked at me. “I still have no idea why you’re interested in this ugly little thing, when there are so many bigger, better vessels right under your nose.”

Not really hearing Gytelem, I climbed through the opening into the cockpit. Yes, it was a real, old-fashioned cockpit, like the ship my great aunt used to fly. My mother had once shown me a holo-vid of Great Aunt Diana, waving for a cockpit, just like this one.

Tears prickled in my eyes, at the thought of that smiling old woman, waving at her grand niece. Pausania had often accused me of being sentimental. One of my hands reached for the stick.

A pulse of warm energy entered my fingers, welcoming my hand. It didn’t matter what Gytelem said about ships being nothing, but metal, beams, and circuits. This ship had just accepted me, as much as any living creature might have. I felt it in my gut, my hand, and my heart. I belonged to this ship, now.

Wednesday, March 23, 2016

“Dearest,” my mother said, with a seriousness that surprised me. Too often, she tried to be cheerful, even to the point of being silly. “This is an old friend of mine.”

Any thoughts of silliness disappeared, when I looked up at her friend. I almost squeaked. This was bad. Princesses weren’t supposed to squeak, even when they were startled. Still it was a bit scary, looking up into the strange lady’s face. It might have been my own face, my grown up face.

Blue eyes exactly like my own regarded me, as if they knew exactly what I was thinking. The flesh around them crinkled. They were amused crinkles, but they were also sad crinkles.

“It’s a pleasure to meet Your Highness,” the lady said, dropping into a curtsy with a grace I could only envy. I wondered, if when I grew up, my voice would sound like hers. I hoped so. It was a beautiful voice, almost creamy in its smoothness. I’d only heard one voice, which was more attractive. The deep, musical voice, which sometimes sang in my dreams. My own voice would never equal that one. This lady, with her golden hair, which was almost like mine, except for the silver streaks in it; she had a voice, which might be my own, someday. It could be mine, if I grew up good and wise. My heart skipped a beat, as I studied her. She wore a gown almost as fine as my mother, but less showy. It gave her a kind of quiet elegance I instantly admired.

“A pleasure to meet you as well, my lady,” I said politely, before I blurted out, “What’s your name?”

“It’s quite all right,” the lady said, with a casual wave of her hand. The grace in the gesture was enviable. I was sure I hadn’t seen this lady at court before, even if I was still learning all the names and faces of the people there. “Such directness is quite refreshing.”

Did she truly like my directness? Or was she simply trying to be polite to the princess? I decided to test her.

“You still haven’t revealed your name, my lady,” I said, as courteously as possible. “What should I call you?”

“Names have power, even assumed ones,” the lady responded, just as courteously, “Since you are my princess, please call me by whatever name you wish.”

“That’s unfair,” I said, with a childishness I’d be ashamed of later. “I’ve only just met you, so how will I know the right name to choose?”

My mother was trying to smile, but I could tell I’d embarrassed her with my bluntness, again. The lady, however, offered me a much more genuine smile. It warmed me, right down to my toes.

“A very fair question, Your Highness,” she said, with a little nod of approval. This warmed me, as well. “I’ve come to try and release you from your curse?”

“My curse?” I asked, but another voice whispered in my head. Soft, low, compelling. Promising I’d grow up with all the beauty of the dawn, but my sun would never rise. Pricking my finger on a spindle would send me into a cursed sleep for a hundred years.

“Darling, we’ve tried not to talk about it around you,” my mother said in the extra gentle voice she used for especially bad news. “However, something very bad happened to you, soon after you were born.”

“I was cursed,” I said. This was no surprise to me. It should terrify me. Instead, an image of blood red lips, smiling, ever so sweetly, appeared in my mind. They were close enough to kiss me. Instead, they murmured words. Promising me a hundred years of sleep.

“An evil witch cursed you,” the strange lady said, lifting a golden eyebrow at me. I got the impression she knew exactly what I was thinking. For the first time, there was a sterness in her regard. “I’m here to remove that curse, or fight it.”

“To do that you’d need to be a witch yourself,” I said, looking her straight in the eye. Her sterness made me a little bit angry, even if she had a right to be stern with a girl, who didn’t have the sense to be afraid of her curse. “Would that make you the good witch?”

A startled laugh escaped from ‘the good witch’. Some of the sterness melted away into laugh lines. I got the impression this was a lady, who loved to laugh, regardless of what sadness had been in her past.

“Your Highness is perceptive,” she said, smiling at me. The approval was back. I was glad to see it. “Yes, as far as you’re concerned, I am the good witch.”

“In which case, I’ll call you, ‘the good witch,” I said, with a boldness, which made my mother cringe, even though she hid it well. “Unless you have another name you’d rather I used?”

It was a final attempt to get her to reveal one of her names. I didn’t think she’d fall for it, even as the corner of her mouth quirked upward in amused recognition of my attempt.

“‘Good witch’ is just fine,” the ‘good witch’ said, with another one of her gracious, lady like nods. I really had to figure out how to nod like that. “I’ll also promise Your Highness to do my very best to live up to that name.”

A strange sadness touched her words, a sadness I wondered about. This sadness was something the good witch carried around with her. It was part of her mysterious charm, which she wore, as if it were a mantle of strength. The mantle was fragile, though. Given time and attention, it would completely unravel.

Thursday, March 17, 2016

To celebrate St. Patrick's Day with all you GLBT fans, I thought I'd share a snippet of my submission to Torquere's 'Riverdance' anthology. 'Every Thom, Dick, and Harry Has a Story' wasn't accepted, alas, but it was quite interesting to write! :)

“We were about to tell stories!” Harrynn said, almost bouncing out of her seat. Her excitement was contagious, not the least because she’d just said the word, ‘stories’. If anything could lure me out of Daerec’s Tower and into a tavern, it was a story.

“What kind of stories? I asked, unable to resist asking. Actually, the company around the table weren’t bad storytellers, although I often doubted if what anyone said was true.

“Why, stories about Padraig, of course!” Thom said, with a significant wag of his head. It was a tipsy wag, I noted. “Savior of our fair green land, whom everyone celebrates this day!”

Of course. Padraig’s Day. This was why everyone was in a good mood, inclined to drink. Although not everyone hailed Padraig as a savior. I knew of a least one person, who’d like to do unmentionable things to certain parts of his body. Painfully unmentionable things.

More than one person, judging from the expression on Rhydicka’s face. “Despoiler of our fair green land, you mean,” she said, inching away from Thom, as if he’d suddenly become repellant. “As well as spiritual rapist, whom would deny others a choice in what sort of faith to follow.”

“You may celebrate Padraig, Thom,” Varwyth said. His voice was melodic, pleasant, but there was a wicked gleam of amusement in his eye. “Dick is here to celebrate his death.”

“Ah, but most men are dicks by nature,” Thom said, saluting Rhydicka with her glass. “You, on the other hand, have proven yourself truly worthy of the name.”

“Aye, I did,” Rhydicka said, giving Thom a very meaningful look. Too meaningful. If they were allowed, they might air some very private grievances I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear.

“As for nicknames, you’re more than welcome to call me Harry,” Harrynn said, grinning, ignoring the tension between Thom and Dick. All right, now I was thinking of Rhydicka as Dick. I’d have to be careful about that.

“You said you were sharing tales about Padraig, but tales are all you’ve got,” I said, changing the subject back to the subject. “There’s very little proof about Padraig’s actual life. Not to mention, his stories contradict each other.” Deliberately, I might have added, but I didn’t want to say too much.

“Exactly!” Harry said, grinning at everyone around the table. Her enthusiasm knocked down the angry tension, as if it was a weak, wee thing. Perhaps it was. “We’re here to share stories of Padraig, whether or not they’re true.”

Here's a snippet from 'Every Thom, Dick, and Harry Has a Story', my Torquere 'Riverdance' submission. It's based off of my Keep post, which is now at inspirationcauldron.wordpress.com. Alas, this story was rejected, but I'll share a little of it with you.

“We were about to tell stories!” Harrynn said, almost bouncing out of her seat. Her excitement was contagious, not the least because she’d just said the word, ‘stories’. If anything could lure me out of Daerec’s Tower and into a tavern, it was a story.

“What kind of stories? I asked, unable to resist asking. Actually, the company around the table weren’t bad storytellers, although I often doubted if what anyone said was true.

“Why, stories about Padraig, of course!” Thom said, with a significant wag of his head. It was a tipsy wag, I noted. “Savior of our fair green land, whom everyone celebrates this day!”

Of course. Padraig’s Day. This was why everyone was in a good mood, inclined to drink. Although not everyone hailed Padraig as a savior. I knew of a least one person, who’d like to do unmentionable things to certain parts of his body. Painfully unmentionable things.

More than one person, judging from the expression on Rhydicka’s face. “Despoiler of our fair green land, you mean,” she said, inching away from Thom, as if he’d suddenly become repellant. “As well as spiritual rapist, whom would deny others a choice in what sort of faith to follow.”

“You may celebrate Padraig, Thom,” Varwyth said. His voice was melodic, pleasant, but there was a wicked gleam of amusement in his eye. “Dick is here to celebrate his death.”

“Ah, but most men are dicks by nature,” Thom said, saluting Rhydicka with her glass. “You, on the other hand, have proven yourself truly worthy of the name.”

“Aye, I did,” Rhydicka said, giving Thom a very meaningful look. Too meaningful. If they were allowed, they might air some very private grievances I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear.

“As for nicknames, you’re more than welcome to call me Harry,” Harrynn said, grinning, ignoring the tension between Thom and Dick. All right, now I was thinking of Rhydicka as Dick. I’d have to be careful about that.

“You said you were sharing tales about Padraig, but tales are all you’ve got,” I said, changing the subject back to the subject. “There’s very little proof about Padraig’s actual life. Not to mention, his stories contradict each other.” Deliberately, I might have added, but I didn’t want to say too much.

“Exactly!” Harry said, grinning at everyone around the table. Her enthusiasm knocked down the angry tension, as if it was a weak, wee thing. Perhaps it was. “We’re here to share stories of Padraig, whether or not they’re true.”

Saturday, March 12, 2016

Here's this Saturday's Rainbow snippet! This time it's f/f, an UNEDITED fragment of my novella, 'Fairest', which is being released May 11, 2016 by prizmbooks.com. Sorry I don't have any cover art yet, but Kris Norris has dropped tantalizing hints about it. :) 'Fairest' is my own fantasy fairy tale mixture of 'Sleeping Beauty' and 'Snow White', with a touch of 'Cinderella' thrown in. Enjoy!

My first memory was of her dark eyes. They seemed to capture all the colors of my infant universe, even as they threatened to swallow me. Her eyes should have been terrifying, but they weren’t.

Her blood red lips moved, shaping words I could only dimly recall. My parents remembered them only too well, as did everyone else who’d gathered at the castle for my christening.

“I, too, have a gift for this child. She shall grow up, with all the beauty and promise of the dawn, but her sun will never rise.”